


Fuck Van Damme

by Smokemycancer



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 22:18:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokemycancer/pseuds/Smokemycancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being playful like this, Ian thought he would never get enough. Ever since Mickey’s outburst in the alleyway, this had been their new thing. Tonight though, kicked it up a notch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck Van Damme

**Author's Note:**

> Because apparently I was going to be harassed until I broke down and wrote this. Here's for you, people of Tumblr. You know who you are.

“Man, fuck Van Damme,” Mickey repeated as the movie ended. Credits rolling loudly. He sighed, loud and content, slurping down the nearly all of his warm beer. Except the last sip; Mickey never drank that. Instead, he did as usual and swirled the liquid around in the bottle before setting it on the coffee table with a little too much force. He belched and, sitting forward, looked at Ian over his shoulder. “Bet even I could kick that guy’s ass on a bad day,” Mickey smirked.

Ian snorted and tossed his completely empty bottle into the wastebasket he’d fashioned as a hopp near the television. They’d been throwing shit unto it all night. Now Ian had two goals up on Mickey, who was stuck at only five. Their mess littered the living room floor. He chuckled, grinning goofily at Mickey. Admittedly a little drunk. Mickey was too, no doubt. They had spilt a _man case_ , as Mickey had dutifully termed the now half empty tweleve pack of Miller forties in the kitchen. Not to mention the last three of Terry's Budwieser long-necks they'd down right off. “Oh I don’t know, Mick,” Ian crooned teasingly. “You were pretty slow to react when I clocked you in the neck,” he went on. “Van Damme would fuck your world up,” Ian laughed as Mickey elbowed him in the shoulder.

Mickey laughed, nose wrinkling up and smiling. “Fuck you,” he started in, “that was some ninja shit.”

Lifting his legs up on the couch, Ian playfully kicked Mickey’s knee and yawned, arms going folded behind his head on the armrest. He closed his eyes for a second. Ian knew he was blushing at the, probably unintentional, compliment. He hoped this position would make noticing that hard for Mickey. Of course he was wrong. Mickey was an observant little shit sometimes.

Barking out an obnoxious laugh, Mickey grabbed at Ian’s ankle up under the hem of his jeans. He twisted his hands in opposite directions fast and hard. And before Ian could jerk free once he realized he was being given an indian burn, his leg seared hatefully.

“Ouch!” Ian yelped, trying to yank free. Mickey was cackling at this point and wouldn’t let go. “Jesus, Mickey!” Ian growled but kept on smiling. Despite trying to be annoyed at Mickey’s childishness, Ian was turned on. With his free leg, Ian brought down a heel kick to Mickey’s shin. But because of their position, all Ian really managed was to bash his foot painfully on the corner of the coffee table. All joy left his face fast. He yelped and pulled a face.

Mickey let go as soon as Ian hit his foot. Brows up, startled, Mickey watched Ian pull up his knee and squeeze his banged foot. “You all right?” Mickey asked, a hint of amusement hidden somewhere under his mild concern.

Ian nodded, hissing through his teeth as the pain subsided.

“Sorry,” Mickey said casually, flicking the victim ankle still laid across his knees.

Ian let go of his foot. His face relaxed into a toothy, soft smirk. “Holy shit,” he teased. “Did you just apologize to me? If I didn’t know better,” Ian went on, resting his hurt foot near his ass, knee arched, “I’d say you’re turning soft, Mickey Milkovich. Sleep overs and popcorn. Apologies.” Ian sniffed, amused and scratched at his neck, watching Mickey’s face from behind his knee. “What’s next?” Ian smiled wide. “You going to get me a little dog and a sweater? Take me stargazing?” he asked, aware of the twinkle in his drunken state.

The smile didn’t falter from Mickey’s face as he let his eyes roam over Ian’s laid out figure. But slowly the smile turned into an obviously fake sneer. The tone of his voice was light as he rolled his eyes and joked, “You ain’t careful, I’ll put a fucking collar and lead on you.”

If Ian was right, which he knew he was because he knew how Mickey ticked. . .if he was right, then Mickey’s remark was in obvious reference to his jealousy over Ned. Clearly due to Ian’s snide use of Mickey’s one time snark about picnics and pooches.

The hearty laugh that escaped Ian filled the room. Was infectious. His face wide in shock, Ian held his burning forehead and stared up at the ceiling. Dick rock solid in his pants. “That’s some kinky shit, Mickey,” Ian remarked.

“And a muzzle,” Mickey snorted, bouncing his knee and gnawing, sucking at his lips. Fiddling with Ian’s pant leg. Antsy. He was antsy if he was horny.

Ian grinned and let go of his forehead. Went back to watching Mickey, in a relaxed state.

“You’re just butthurt because you can’t take me or Van Damme,” Ian probed. Licked his teeth. Anticipation building in his stomach and chest. Being playful like this, Ian thought he would never get enough. Ever since Mickey’s outburst in the alleyway, this had been their new thing. Tonight though, kicked it up a notch. 

Mickey sat back on the sofa and folded his hands in his lap. Clicking his tongue in mock annoyance. The earlier smile playing at his lips again. Ian loved this. He didn’t want it to ever stop. Mickey being so open was a welcomed pleasure. “Suck it, you moron,” Mickey chuckled. “I ain’t the pussy crying over stubbed toes,” he said.

Kicking Mickey with his outstretched leg, just hard enough to get a rise out of the fuckhead, Ian sat up fast and bolted toward the bedroom. Holding his stomach and laughing as Mickey jumped up after him.

“Prick!” Mickey yelled as he crashed into Ian slamming the bedroom door in his face. With ease, Mickey pushed the door open. Because Ian was already jumping back, face wide and happy.

Holding out his hands in fake protest, Ian begged, “Now hold on a minute! I hurt my foot, remember? You wouldn’t kick me while I’m down!”

The cocky look on Mickey face as he strutted forward and cracked his knuckles just about sent Ian over.

“Nope,” Mickey said. He thumbed his lower lip. “But then, uh, you seem pretty spritely to me,” he smiled. Then shoved Ian onto his back and into the mattress. And for a second time, their tongues danced together.


End file.
